Beginnings and Endings
by hrhrionastar
Summary: Series of drabbles 500 words or less. Ever wondered why Wormtail went over to the Dark Side? Why Snape didn't kill him? What really happened between Draco and Ginny? James and Narcissa? How Draco and Astoria got together? Just a few...possibilities.
1. Threshold

Author's Note: For StoryGirl02 on the Drabble Request Thread. Prompts: Narcissa, Dark Mark, "You may kiss the bride," Regulus.

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**Threshold**

"I hate weddings," Andromeda grumbles, shaking out her lurid green bridesmaid's dress and eyeing it with distaste.

I shrug. I'm already dressed, and, although the green makes me look like a drowned person, I'm still a very attractive drowned person, so I'm not complaining. Besides, it's Bellatrix's day—I'm just glad she didn't dress us in burlap sacks.

The long sleeves_ are_ a bit uncomfortable for summer, though.

Andromeda jabs irritably at her back with her wand, to fasten the dress in place, misses, and bites her tongue, wincing.

I fix Andromeda's dress, and I'm just pinning up her hair when Regulus rushes in. "Why do I have to wear this stuff?" he complains, picking at his dress robes. Poor Reggie! It'd take just one bogey-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean to set him over the edge, these days.

"Because Bella says so," sighs Andromeda.

Reggie seems satisfied with Andromeda's answer. Sirius wouldn't be.

As though called by my thoughts, my older cousin appears in the doorway. "Mother says you've got three minutes," he reports in a swift monotone.

"How does B look?" I ask, fingers and wand moving deftly through the tangled mess that is my sister's hair.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Look?" he asks, confused. Silly boy. He'll be a heartbreaker someday, of course.

"She's beautiful," says Reggie, and somehow he makes it sound spiritual as well as physical. How does he do that? He's only ten.

"Mother's wedding dress won't look right on her," Andromeda disagrees.

I roll my eyes. What difference does it make? Andromeda ought to be thanking Salazar for deliverance, since B, the oldest, is the only one who'll has to wear that dratted old thing. But no, some people just love to make trouble...

I've lost track of the ensuing argument, and suddenly it's time to go. Andromeda heads toward where the ceremony is being held, but I've got to get a glimpse of B first.

Reggie follows me, looking solemn. "Cissy, was it awful, waiting a year after Andy left before Hogwarts?" he asks.

"Yeah," I admit. "But don't worry. You'll be there soon enough. This year'll fly by."

"What if…?" he starts, then bites his lip. "What if Siri forgets all about me?"

"He couldn't. Not in a million years."

B looks gorgeous, of course, in that smoldering way she's got. She's scowling at the mirror. I walk down the aisle next to Rabastan, and the ceremony drags on and on…

I love weddings, but even I think this part's boring. I idly scan the crowd, and my eyes meet Lucius Malfoy's. I blush.

"You may kiss the bride," jerks me out of my reverie. Rodolphus grabs B around the waist, and her arms snake around his shoulders. Her sleeve falls, and I gasp at the strange symbol on her left forearm.

It's a snake and a skull—like a pirate. When did she get_ that_ done? Next second everyone's applauding. I won't say anything.

It's probably nothing anyway. Just a tattoo.


	2. Love

Written for StoryGirl02 on the Drabble Request Thread. Prompts: Lucius/Andromeda; "I never wanted you," a ring, Black family tree.

--

**Love**

"Andromeda," he sneers.

"Lucius," she scoffs.

The portraits on the walls either turn up their noses and ignore Andromeda, or hiss things like 'blood traitor' and 'disgrace to your name' and 'your poor parents,' at her.

Andromeda turns away from Lucius, who stands in the doorway, hair as pale as sunlight and habitual sneer only partly concealing a lost, bewildered look.

She traces the gold lines on the family tree, matching the gold ring on the third finger of her left hand, and touches the burn mark where her name and birth date used to be.

"Regretting your foolish decision already?" Lucius asks sardonically.

She turns around at that, rising to the bait, as always, though she knows she shouldn't. "I love Ted," she says defiantly.

"I hope you enjoy poverty and Mudblood brats," he says without missing a beat.

"You're so full of sh—" she starts, raising a hand as though to strike him.

He grabs her wrist and pulls her into a one-armed embrace. She struggles, and the portraits laugh.

"Why?" he asks softly. "Why would you give up everything for this…this Mudblood _Hufflepuff_, for Salazar's sake! You've got a whole life here, Andromeda. What is _he_ to a _Black_?"

"_He_ is my husband, and if you're referring to our ill-fated childhood engagement, I never wanted you, and you know it!"

"The feeling's always been mutual," Lucius says with a fastidious sneer. He doesn't let go of her wrists.

"Then why do you even care?" she demands hotly. "I know about you and my sister Cissy—"

"She's not your sister," he cuts in, with icy, paralyzing clarity. She stands rooted to the spot, face drained of color. "_She'll never be your sister again_, don't you understand? You've given up your life, your friends, your family—your future! Just tell me _why_—what could possibly be worth that?"

She can hear the anguish in his voice, and she relents, watching light flicker on her wedding ring. "Love," she says, to herself as much as to him. "Love conquers all."

"You can't eat love," Lucius scoffs. "You can't _live_ on love, Andromeda."

She looks up. "_You_ can't live on gold, Lucius—or fame. Nothing else matters but love—it's the whole world."

"Fine." Lucius purses his lips in distaste at the thought of Andromeda and the Mudblood. "Then why'd you come back here?"

She freezes, glances back at the burn-mark on the tapestry—"I don't know," she says honestly. "But it doesn't matter. Goodbye, Lucius. Treat Cissy right—or you'll find even a blood traitor Black is still a _Black_." And she pulls gently away from him and walks out.

Lucius stares after her, then kicks the carpet in disgust.

"Witches," one of the Black portraits on the wall says sympathetically. "Always got to make things complicated."

"Love conquers all," Lucius mutters, finding the female sex—or at least Mrs. Andromeda Mudblood-Hufflepuff—incomprehensible. "She must be out of her f***ing mind."


	3. Older

Prompts by White Feathers: Sirius and Lily; "I loved you first."

--

**Older**

"James wants to apologize," Sirius says, digging a heel into the mud by the lake. It's the day after the Transfiguration O.W.L., and it rained last night. His hands are shoved into his pockets, even though it's warm enough to sunbathe in a bikini, Lily thinks.

Lily's eyes are red-rimmed, but Sirius, uncharacteristically, doesn't say anything.

"Why doesn't Potter apologize himself?" she asks, a glimmer of her usual fire twinkling in the back of her viridian eyes.

Sirius looks at her, and doesn't answer for a long moment. "Snivellus isn't worth it, you know," he whispers at last, and reaches out a hesitant hand to brush the dark circles under her eyes. He thinks that, today, Lily looks years older than sixteen.

She flinches back at his words, though, fingers curling and uncurling as though unsure whether or not to punch him. "Don't mention his name to me," she says glacially.

Sirius has never actually seen a glacier, but he's heard that tone before, usually from members of his family. It gives him physical pain to hear it from Lily.

Maybe that's why he reaches out to her in another way. "I loved you first, you know," he says, turning away and staring at the glassy surface of the lake.

"No, you didn't," Lily tells him firmly. "You don't love me. 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.' Shakespeare."

Sirius looks over at her, surprised. "What?" he asks, bewildered.

"Look it up, moron." It's a good exit line, but somehow Lily can't summon enough momentum to leave. She stands there, staring at the water and reliving yesterday over and over in her mind.

It's a relief when Sirius breaks the spell. "I do love you, you know. James isn't the only one who can see how amazing you are." He moves closer. "Beautiful, and smart…" Now he sounds mesmerized, and his fingers brush her bare arms.

Lily closes her eyes for a moment. Then she pushes him away, eyes dark and fixed on his handsome features. "I told you the verse. Now I'm going to give it to you straight: I'm a competition for you four—some kind of symbol. You don't love _me_, Sirius Black. You love James, and _he_ loves me—or thinks he does. You always want what you can't have."

"You're wrong," says Sirius, fingers tightening on Lily's arms.

"No," she whispers, "I'm not." Then, surreptitiously, she draws her wand and casts a Stinging Hex. Sirius recoils reflexively, and Lily makes good her escape. When she's several feet away, she turns back. "You never answered my question. Why doesn't Potter apologize to me himself?"

"He thinks you'll hex him into next week—or try to, and then he'll hex you in self-defense, and you'll be even madder," Sirius replies casually. He's calm and collected. He's used to humiliation.

"I'll try and restrain myself," Lily promises, and then she's gone.

"I really did love you, you know," Sirius whispers to the muddy ground.


	4. Bygones

Drabble Request Thread! Prompts by PanicAttack757: Draco/Ginny, Hogwarts era, "Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time, maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you."

--

**Bygones**

"Weasel, are you sure?"

Soft giggles. Sound of silk and cotton rubbing together.

"Shh…I'm all yours, Drake."

Sigh. Moan. Shriek. Laugh.

--

She's gone after Easter, and the castle feels empty, just like his life. He blames Potter—and who could not, given what that scarhead put him and his family through? Father still can't walk properly, and Mother's eyes have never been colder. Being cooped up in the mansion that used to be his home with crazy Auntie Bellatrix doesn't help.

He wanders the halls like a ghost, and pretends to be a model junior Death Eater. It's too easy, even with the Carrows' taunts ringing in his ears. Whatever they do to him, they've still got nothing on Auntie Bellatrix.

He'll survive—his kind always does.

He wonders if she thinks about him, though—wherever she is.

--

The tiny slice of sky she can see from Aunt Muriel's guest bedroom window doesn't contain his star. She daren't go out and look properly—she hates this mantle of enforced safety.

Harry's out there saving the world, like always, and she's stuck in here learning how to knit and listening to Aunt Muriel read _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore _aloud for the whole family.

_He_'s in danger. She hates it.

And there's nothing she can do—she can't even find his star.

--

She finds him huddled in a corner of the Great Hall after the Battle. For once he's alone—she neither knows nor cares where his parents are.

He gets unsteadily to his feet and drags her outside, away from prying eyes. They sit on the grass near Dumbledore's tomb.

"Are you okay?" is his first question. "I heard about your brother."

She nods, looks down, eyes filling up with tears.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," hiccup. Deep breath.

Long silence.

"I just—"

"I'm probably on the Ministry's black list right n—"

They both stop, and he gestures for her to start.

"I'm just not sure—I can't—I mean, us—"

"Are you breaking up with me?" At first he's incredulous. "Why?"

Even now, he still can't think of a reason.

She's on the defensive; "Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time—maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you."

"Or maybe," he says slowly, eyes fixed on her face, "now the battle's won, you fancy being Mrs. Chosen One after all, huh, Weasel?"

She blushes. "I don't—it's just—he loves me."

"And I don't?" Eyebrows raised superciliously.

"I can't betray him now—he needs me."

"A hero's reward," softly, fatalistically.

"I'm sorry." She's gone.

Never really his, anyway.


	5. Recruiting

Drabble for the "Come in, we're open" challenge. I also used a quote from the Creepy Quotes challenge: "Cry me a river and drown in it."

* * *

**Recruiting**

----------------------------**  
**

_Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know_

_Realized it's really time you pruned that family tree? Are your talents woefully unappreciated? Looking for a little action? Adventure? A chance to hone your dueling skills? Bored? _

_Then you've come to the right place! Come see us at 666 DeVille Drive, London, and become more yourself than you've ever imagined! Our organization is full of exciting, fun, and dangerous people whom, trust us, you're dying to meet! _

_Don't be a coward—join the D— E—s!_

"This is ridiculous," Bellatrix Lestrange mutters in annoyance, looking up from the _Daily Prophet_. "The Dark Lord doesn't _advertise_."

"Why not?" Hogwarts seventh-year Barty Crouch, Jr. asks insouciantly.

"It's not—dignified," Bellatrix explains patiently, looking pained. She doesn't know how else to explain proper respect for the Dark Lord. After all, the Death Eaters aren't some new posh club. They have a _mission_.

"I don't know—could be a great way to convert people," says her husband, Rodolphus, thoughtfully. "Good hex in the words—every seventh letter, maybe. I'll have to rewrite it."

"Oh, thanks," scowls Barty. Apparently he doesn't relish the thought of someone else editing his prose.

"Cry me a river and drown in it, youngling," says Rodolphus absently. He Summons the _Prophet _away from Bellatrix, who snatches back the puzzle section, scowling.

There's a small silence, during which Rodolphus scribbles on a spare piece of parchment, attempting to tie a Compulsion Charm or even the Imperius Curse to the words; Rabastan's eyes drift closed; Bellatrix taps the puzzle with her wand and absently chews on a piece of tangled black hair; and Barty stares expectantly at the door.

Bellatrix, having scrawled a word in her puzzle only to have the word transform itself into an inventive and appropriate insult, sighs loudly, graciously refrains from setting the entire newspaper on fire, and blows air out violently threw her teeth.

"Barty," she says dangerously. "I'm not waiting for your _fabulous_ new converts anymore. Next time, get someone else to play watchdog. Perhaps my _darling_ cousin?"

"Come on, Bella," wheedles Barty. "Just a bit longer?"

"No!" Bellatrix gets to her feet and glares around at her husband, still muttering to himself in iambic pentameter, her brother-in-law, feebly stirring, and Barty, who's pouting at her to hide his habitual smirk. "I don't know about you three, but I have better things to do than wait here for cowards who never show up."

She storms toward the door, and flings it open to reveal a young, rather pudgy wizard with his fist stretched out to knock upon the door of 666, DeVille Drive.

"Who are _you_?" Bellatrix says, shocked.

"P-P-Peter P-P-Pettigrew," he stammers. "I—read your advert."

Barty gives Bellatrix a triumphant look. "What'd I tell you? Like moths to a flame." He turns to Pettigrew. "Come in," he says, grinning like the Devil. "We're open."

Pettigrew steps over the threshold, and Bellatrix closes the door with offended languor. Her eyes twinkle like falling stars in the darkness.


	6. Courtship

Drabble Request Thread; for Gaby Black's challenge: James/Lily, 'Obviously.'

* * *

**Courtship**

"Why did you agree to go out with James?" Remus Lupin is the only person, Lily thinks, who could ask her this and actually want to_ know_.

She looks over at James and Sirius, daring one another to jump into the frozen lake, and shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," lightly.

"You hated him," Remus insists.

"Mmm," Lily agrees, leaning back on her elbows on the wet ground.

"If you don't want to discuss it," begins Remus stiffly.

Lily leans over and playfully swats his arm. "Remus Lupin, have I refused to speak to you? Ever?"

"Well—there was that time, third year, with the Screaming Sunflowers—"

Lily rolls her eyes. "_Lately?_ Careful how you remind me—I'm too tired to lose my temper now."

"It's not still lost? We should organize a search party," Remus teases.

"While we're at it, we ought to look for _your_ sense of fun," Lily retorts.

Meanwhile, James, apparently having lost the dare, takes a deep breath and dives, headfirst, for the icy lake.

"—and for his sanity," Lily adds, reaching for her wand.

Just before James's handsome head hits the hard ice, Lily, with a careful swish of her wand, changes his trajectory; he misses the ice and plunges into the cold water instead.

Remus thinks he can hear James's swearing from underwater; James's knee collides with the ice. Peter winces.

Sirius, looking guilty, hauls a sopping wet and shivering James to where Lily, Remus, and Peter stand just within the boundaries of their shared Warming Charm. James drips on Lily's Arithmancy textbook. She scowls.

"Lily," says James, miserably. He doesn't even glance at Remus or Peter, the latter of whom looks rather indignant. "What can I say? I was an idiot."

"Obviously," Lily scoffs. Then she relents. "Sit down and show me that knee." He does, surprisingly meekly. "How do you think you're going to fight Death Eaters when you obviously don't need their help to practically kill yourself?" Lily grumbles. She taps the knee with her wand: immediately, all that's left is a yellow bruise.

Above her, Peter shoots Remus a worried look. _Fight Death Eaters?_ It says. _Are we sure that's a good idea?_

"Ah, but the key word there is 'practically,'" James says sagely, grinning.

"No, the key word's—" Lily starts.

"Lunch," interposes Sirius, throwing a sympathetic arm around James's shoulders. "All that death-defying can really give a bloke an appetite."

"That's right!" agrees Peter eagerly. A less kind person than Remus might say _too _eagerly.

"Food!" James exclaims. He and Sirius stroll off together; Peter trails behind, not sparing a glance for Remus and Lily. Remus wishes there was cause for such a glance.

"In answer to your previous question?" Lily says now.

Remus nods and tries to look intelligent. It helps that he is intelligent, but not that he's seventeen.

Lily stares, fascinated and furious, at her departing boyfriend. Reflexively, James ruffles his hair.

"I have absolutely no idea."

Obviously.


	7. Possession

Drabble Request Thread; for thelightningstrike's challenge: Draco/Astoria, night sky, wishing well, "give me a push up."

* * *

**Possession **

Silence. The ballroom is full of velvet cloaks and diamond earrings, political correctness ("_New_bloods, dearest, not that M-word") and scrambling society hangers-on.

In the doorway, Draco Malfoy stares them all down. Eyes drop, offended titters circulate:

"He dares…"

"I thought they were all in Azkaban…"

"_I _heard they threatened to destroy the economy if the Minister didn't let them off…"

"Don't you know _anything_? Harry Potter vouched for them, swore they saved his life…"

"Harry Potter…Draco Malfoy…"

Only one person doesn't look away. Green eyes meet gray.

Draco Malfoy makes an elegant beeline for her, and green-eyed Astoria Greengrass holds her breath.

"Dance with me," he says. _Not_ a question.

She knows who he is, of course (Daphne even used to mention him, before the War), but their paths have never really crossed.

As they whirl about the dance floor, she thinks, _nice shoulders; here's a man to trust—and those eyes, honestly, I—he's a really good dancer—everyone's watching this, mother's going to kill me, I can feel the family reputation sinking with every step, and I don't care, I honestly don't—_

Then Ernie—her fiancée, she remembers with a jolt—says, with barely contained murderous rage, "May I cut in?" Draco bows and kisses her hand and vanishes into the gossiping crowd (several people sweep their cloaks aside in distaste); Ernie grabs her waist—

_Clumsy_, she thinks, and then he steps on her foot. Astoria, a good pureblooded daughter, doesn't speak.

Draco's eyes gleam, lingering on her back.

--

"This is crazy—I'm crazy," Astoria says distractedly, running a hand through her chocolate brown curls and staring across at Draco.

"No, you're not," he replies calmly. He's leaning back in his chair, sipping Muggle coffee ("a Muggle shop, Malfoy? Are you turning over a new leaf?"—"No, Skeeter's more likely to leave me alone here").

"I'm engaged, Draco!" angrily.

"Why him?" curiously.

Shrug, sip of bitter coffee. "We dated in school, he proposed in front of everyone, the family's disgraced, he's a war hero—I just couldn't refuse."

--

Astoria feels giddy. She called things off with Ernie. Her emotions are jumbled—she sits on the grass in front of the wishing well in old Mrs. Frampton's garden and tries to think seriously about her future.

She's found the star that bears his name before she realizes she was looking. The sky is huge above her. She feels suddenly very alone.

"Come here often?" He's sitting on the wall.

Astoria brushes dirt off her robes and walks over, staring at him. His pale hair makes him look like an angel, but she knows better.

The wall is high. _Too_ high. "Give me a push up," she demands, and he obliges with fitting grace.

Their hands touch—and then their lips—

"What did you wish for?" later.

Her eyes are bright with tears. "This."

"Marry me." _Not_ a question.

And Astoria thanks all her lucky stars, individually and by name.

Now she has her own star.


	8. Adversity

Drabble Request Thread; for EveryShadeOfDeath: Characters Lucius, Narcissa, Severus; "a real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

* * *

**Adversity**

It's the day after the day after the end of the world. And Severus Snape is making pancakes.

Lily's mother used to make pancakes for her witch daughter and her awkward, socially inept best friend.

Of course, that was before he destroyed said friendship and killed the only woman he could ever love.

There's a mirror above the fireplace. Severus catches a glimpse of his own familiar, despicable face, and unthinkingly lashes out.

Pieces of glass scatter across the room and land in the pancake batter.

"That's seven years' bad luck."

Severus whirls, reaching for his wand.

In the doorway, Narcissa Malfoy pushes back her white lace veil and waits, calm and icy as ever, for him to regain his senses.

Severus suspects she'll be waiting for a long time. He stares at her, unconsciously drinking in her bleached beauty, her dark, expensive cloak, her elegant, relaxed posture. She's pretending, of course—her world may not be in tatters, but it's definitely frayed around the edges.

"What do you want?" he asks, finally. She's won the staring contest, but he can't bring himself to care.

"You really did love her," Narcissa says. "You poor thing."

In two strides, Severus reaches her; he grabs her elbows and shakes her. "I don't want your pity—" he manages to choke out, and then he's kissing her—

She's not ice-cold, after all, he thinks in a detached way—she's small and delicate—her hands reach up to frame his face, and she doesn't pull away—

Severus realizes he's actually enjoying the kiss, when he never thought he'd enjoy anything again; and that he's betrayed his darling Lily in a new way, just when he'd thought he could sink no lower.

Horrified, he breaks away.

Narcissa pulls him over to the couch, Vanishes the shards of glass, and sits down gingerly. She rubs his shoulder, and he leans against her.

"She's gone," he says, tone flat and emotionless. And the next thing he knows, he's dry-sobbing on Narcissa Malfoy's shoulder.

"Hush," she whispers. "I know."

It must be hours later when Lucius lets himself into the house. Severus is sure he put wards up, but apparently the Malfoys brushed them aside like cobwebs. He wishes he cared.

"The Dark Lord is gone."

Severus, clinging to his self-control and forbidding image, nods.

Lucius frowns. "The Ministry will be looking for us," he continues with the exaggerated patience of one explaining arithmetic to a particularly slow toddler.

Narcissa, now curled up in the only halfway decent armchair, doesn't speak, but her eyes gleam.

With an effort, Severus adapts his mind to the problem. The thought that Dumbledore probably won't approve of his efforts to spare the Malfoys Azkaban does occur to him, but, after all, Dumbledore is not here. They are.

"Why not…plead the Imperius Curse…" Severus says slowly.

The Malfoys share a knowing grin. Severus thinks, _a real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out_—and winces.


	9. Reality

Drabble Request Thread; for mustardgirl1128: Draco/Astoria, empty chairs at empty tables

* * *

**Reality**

"Marry for love and repent at leisure."

Astoria's mother used to say that. Astoria hates that part of her thinks it's true.

She loves Draco, more than air—and his family have been decent to her; his mother is scrupulously, unfailingly polite, his father cold but caring—she'll never forget how angry he was that any family could disown _his son's_ wife—plots for vengeance came so easily to him—and, really, they've adopted her.

She knew when she eloped with Draco Malfoy, disgraced ex-Death Eater, that her family wouldn't relish the scandal—but then, he's far richer than Ernie, so if their empty coffers were the only problem—

"What am I supposed to do now?" she growls at the empty ballroom in the wake of her first society event as Mrs. Draco Malfoy.

"Make cookies?" She whirls, and there is Blaise Zabini, leaning nonchalantly against the door.

Astoria rolls her eyes. "Because Wizarding society will come racing to my doorstep at the mere prospect of my fabulous cooking?"

"I would," Blaise asserts, grinning. "You have the magic touch."

"Thank you." She crosses over to him. "Blaise, what am I supposed to do? I want to help Draco restore the family resources, I want to _do something_, I want—"

"You want to be Society's darling." Blaise quirks his eyebrows at her. "Don't be—you're too good for them."

She laughs. "Don't you read the papers? I'm a slut, a gold-digger, a victim—Draco's dosing me with Amortentia, _I'm_ dosing _him_ with Amortentia, he used to date my sister but she dumped him and I was the second best thing, I've loved him my whole life, Pansy was my best friend, we hate each other, he's broke, I'm rich, my parents love him…To hear them tell it, we'd both have to be schizophrenic."

"Don't be a shadow, trying to please them," Blaise says contemptuously. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

Astoria blinks at him. "You're no help at all, you know that?"

"So…no cookies?" He looks absurdly hopeful.

Astoria laughs, and relents. "Come by tonight, and I'll see what I can do," she promises.

When she's alone again, all she can think of is empty chairs at empty tables, and how much she's given up.

She sets a broom to clean the woefully small amount of mess, while she peruses cookbooks, thinking.

Eventually, she leaves the ballroom, and seeks comfort in the warm kitchen. She promised Blaise cookies, after all.

"Delicious," pronounces Lucius, at the head of the table. Astoria smiles, nods, and wonders if he sees her as a glorified house-elf.

"Yes, you do have a knack for this particular aspect of housekeeping," Narcissa agrees, careful not to accuse Astoria of more virtues than she's been proven to possess.

"I think it was brilliant," Draco says staunchly. He leans over and kisses her. "And I can't wait for dessert," he breathes in her ear.

Sipping her wine demurely, Astoria thinks maybe this is enough.

* * *

Note: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." --Eleanor Roosevelt


	10. Survivors

Drabble Request Thread; for Megsy42: James II, Albus Severus, "There's nothing we can do."

Also for the Just Dialogue/Description Challenge._**  
**_

_**WARNING!! Character death! Also implied threesome relationship. Please proceed with caution.**_

* * *

**Survivors**

"Potter, Lily!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"_WHAT?"_

"Mr. Potter, if you would kindly refrain from interrupting the Sorting—"

"But Professor, my sister—"

"Not another word, or it's detention, Potter."

"Psst! James! This can't be happening! How can we get Lils in Gryffindor where she belongs?"

"Al, you know it's her life. Besides, it's the _Sorting Hat_!"

"But James, she—"

"There's nothing we can do."

--

"Mom, Dad, these are my friends, Luther Dagworth and Vulpecula Malfoy."

"Nice to meet you both."

"Thanks so much for letting us stay this summer, Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"YES! They loved you guys!"

"LIls, are you sure—"

"Gotta go, Al! V's brother Scorpius is gonna teach us Quiz-Quill!"

"James! Lily's friends are nasty, bigoted Slytherins!"

"They're not _that _bad; just because their parents—"

"But they're_ Slytherins_, James!"

"So's Lily."

"How could she bring them here? They're obviously just using her—maybe they're trying to get close to Dad for an assassination plot!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Al."

"I'm not—don't you remember that Howler, about kidnapping us, and—James, how can you be so calm?"

"There's nothing we can do."

--

"I'm pregnant!"

"Lily, sweetheart, that's great! When are you due?"

"April—right around Teddy's birthday, actually."

"As long as you're sure—we're really happy for you, darling."

"Yeah—can't believe my baby sister's gonna be a mom!"

"Was I the only person in there who remembers Lily's _not married_? James!"

"That's none of our business, Al. Face it: you can't control Lily forever."

"I never could."

"She's an adult now, and you have to respect that."

"I do?"

"If you want to keep her in your life."

"Did she say who the father was?"

"No—must be Dagworth, though. She's sleeping with both of them, you know."

"WHAT? My sister's sleeping around with wicked, nasty, Slytherin g—"

"_Excuse_ me. I can't have you talking about my wife that way."

"Wife—oh, right, she's a Slytherin, isn't she? Sorry James, you know I didn't mean her—for all she's a _Malfoy_, too, I mean good Godric—no, don't go, I'm sorry, James!"

"It. Is. None. Of. Your. Business. Lily's old enough to make these decisions for herself."

"_Both _of them, though?"

"They're anti-establishment."

"I can't believe this."

"There's nothing we can do."

--

"There was an accident—I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Lily Luna Potter is dead."

"No! My baby!"

"Accident? What kind of accident? 'Cause, y'know, Lily's had accidents before—"

"This is different, Al. _I saw her body._ There's not gonna be any last-minute Draught-of-Living-Death or essence-of-dittany-cures this time. She's gone, brother."

"There has to be something—isn't your wife the best Potioneer since Severus Snape? Or maybe—"

"There's nothing. I'm going to go help with the funeral arrangements."

"No, James, wait! This can't be happening! How can you just 'make arrangements' like all Lily did was inconvenience you? Our sister—"

"Is dead. There's nothing we can do, Al."

"SHUT UP! Just shut up!"


	11. Cardinal

Drabble Request Thread; for Nanaho-Hime, prompts Luna, butterflies, time, ephemeral.

Also for the Colors Challenge: I used Arsenic, Liver, Lust, Palatinate purple, Peach puff, papaya whip, and pink.

* * *

**Cardinal**

"Did you know the color of your crayon is called Arsenic?" Ron Weasley asks Luna Lovegood Scamander, bemused.

"I prefer Liver myself, and Rolf likes Lust," Luna says matter-of-factly.

Ron reddens.

"Aun' Luna?" Lily Potter, aged three, asks. "What's 'Pal-uh-teen-ate?'"

"Oh, good girl," Ginny Potter says approvingly. "She's just learned to read," she adds proudly to her brother. "Aren't you smart, sweetie?"

Lily pouts. "Is it a fancy word for purple?"

"Actually," says Hermione, unable to resist, "a Palatinate is a territory administered by a Count palatine; it's a hereditary position, a bit like a principality, and—"

"Ooh! Princess!" Lily smiles, and twirls around holding the purple crayon.

Ginny laughs and pulls her brother and his wife away, soon deep in conversation about James's upcoming birthday party.

"Peach puff, papaya whip, pink…" Luna murmurs to herself, organizing the crayons in an order entirely incomprehensible to outsiders.

"That one looks like a butterfly," Lily says, pointing insistently at a crayon labeled Tangelo.

"Like the tango," Luna agrees. "A lovely dance that you'll understand much better when you're older. Tangelo is also a kind of fruit, and the name of the fifth princess of the Weilring Confederacy, in South America."

"I'm a princess," Lily insists.

Luna doesn't deny it, but sits and stares at Lily for awhile, leaving her crayon organization in a mess on the table. Lily stares back, still holding the purple crayon. Her red hair is a tangled mass around her face, and there are chocolate streaks around her mouth.

"James says you're going to have a baby," Lily says at last. She sounds almost accusing.

"That's right," Luna says serenely. "But that doesn't mean I won't come and see you whenever I can."

"Yes it does," Lily asserts. "Grown-ups don't have time for kids, especially once they've got some of their own. Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur and Uncle Percy and Uncle George and Uncle Ron and everyone always 'dump their kids on us,' is what Mummy said."

Luna smiles. "I'm sure she was just in a bad mood. You know I come to see you as often as possible; when the baby comes, the three of us'll play together. You can teach the baby all about Palatinates and princesses, if you'd like."

"Will I like the baby?" Lily pouts. "_I'm_ the youngest!"

Luna, sensing that maybe she's not entirely getting through to the toddler, locks eyes with Lily, for once not vaguely at all. "Lily Luna Potter," she says gently, "you are my namesake and my goddaughter and my friend, and I will always have time for you."

"Even when the baby comes?"

"Yes, even then. You'll help me, won't you?"

Lily thinks about it for awhile. Luna goes back to organizing the crayons, watching her. In no time at all, she'll be too old to want to spend hours with her godmother, sorting magical crayons and begging chocolate from Harry.

"Okay," Lily smiles finally, "I'll help you."

Luna promptly hands her a crayon.


	12. Heritage

Drabble Request Thread; for sick-atxxheart; Powerful!Harry, "he can't ever win."

Also the Just Dialogue/Description Challenge.

* * *

**Heritage**

A week ago, I would've said I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating Voldemort. Not with anything but purity of heart, Dumbledore's best-laid plans, and my mother's blood, anyway.

It's ironic: here I am—my whole life, I've been Just Harry. Well guess what? Turns out I'm Godric Gryffindor's heir.

That's right; _I'm_ the long-lost descendant of the Founder of my House. In fact, Godric's youngest daughter married a Potter.

How I discovered this, you ask? It all started this past weekend when I discovered I was broke. Too many Zonko's products, I guess.

So Ron, Hermione and I got special permission from Dumbledore to visit Diagon Alley.

One rough cart-ride later, we're about to climb out and walk up to the door of my vault, when the cart starts accelerating fiercely. Our goblin guide tries, belatedly, to grab on, but we're speeding away into the depths of Gringotts, Ron yelling and Hermione's hair streaking out behind her.

When the cart finally stops, we're in unfamiliar territory. Hermione claims these're the deepest vaults belonging to the oldest, richest families.

After that, I lose track of the conversation. I feel something pulling me toward a particular door; I lay my hand on the cool metal. At my touch, the door swings open.

Yup, you guessed it—only Godric Gryffindor's heir could've opened his vault. It was quite the coincidence, getting lost down there—'course, that sort of thing is always happening to me.

So, basically, it's me versus Voldemort, and so, in some bizarre magical way, it's G. Gryffindor versus S. Slytherin.

Unfortunately, Godric didn't actually win against Slytherin—not in the strictest sense. And, according to the journals and letters he kept in his vault, that big quarrel he had with SS wasn't really about blood status.

No, it was a woman—or rather, two: R. Ravenclaw and H. Hufflepuff.

Near as Ron, Hermione and I can make out, there were a lot of interlocking, complex relationships there. See, apparently RR and SS had this huge doomed love thing going, the kind of love that spans centuries—like in _Wuthering Heights_, Hermione says.

At the same time, GG and SS had quite the history, GG and HH were actually married, only then SS started moving in on HH and GG protested and the end of it was a war.

SS left, alright, but he came back at the head of an army. GG got everyone together, and he and SS actually did fight in single combat, but RR was the one who finished SS off. No fury like a woman scorned, they say.

Fascinating as all this ancient history was, the way I figure it, from what Dumbledore's told me, is, I've either got to give up my principles, or my life.

Or, if we're going with the GG/SS analogy, both.

No matter how powerful I get, it'll always be down to Voldemort and me. Even if I beat him—I can never win.


	13. Grace

Drabble Request Thread; for Cuban Sombrero Gal; Lily Evans, dancing in the rain, no James or Sev (I almost managed that)

* * *

**Grace**

Pitter. Patter.

Pitter. Patter.

The rain keeps falling on Lily's umbrella. It's monotonous.

Pitter, Patter.

Frustrated, Lily closes the Muggle contraption ("why not just do an Impervious Charm? Honestly, Lily, you're weird sometimes"), and shakes her head so that red wisps of hair escape her braid, float, and are quickly weighted down by heavy water droplets.

Around her, endless expanses of green, wet land blur in front of her eyes. She blinks, and pretends the salty moisture on her cheeks is only rain.

Suddenly furious with herself, Lily savagely whacks the umbrella against her leg. A moment later, her eyes are watering in pain.

Deliberately, testing herself, she takes two quick steps back, arching through her toes and balancing on the balls of her feet.

It hurts.

She does a fast pas de chat and then a slow pirouette using the umbrella for balance.

Before turning eleven, finding out she was a witch, before Hogwarts, Lily took ballet lessons. Every Tuesday after school. If it weren't for Hogwarts, she'd be en pointe by now.

It's another thing she had to give up. Some days, she wonders if magic was worth it.

Frowning, she twirls the umbrella around her wrist and does a petit jeté over a puddle in the road.

If only, she thinks wistfully, everything weren't so completely wrecked with Sev—

"Lily, what are you doing out here?" Alice runs down the muddy road from her family's mansion and grabs her friend and roommate's arm. Lily is soaking wet. "You'll catch your death!"

"Better that than let it catch me." Lily hugs herself, umbrella hooked into her belt loop, wet hair plastered to her head.

"Come on, Lily," Alice rolls her eyes. "You have to think of the future."

Lily smiles bitterly. "Carpe diem."

"Seize the day—" Alice translates.

"—'cause tomorrow you might be dead," Lily adds with a macabre grin.

"Ooh, speaking of, our O.W.L. results came," Alice says cheerfully.

"Far out," Lily murmurs sardonically. She follows Alice back up the road toward the mansion, unfurling her umbrella again.

Leaving the Muggle world hurt. But being a witch has its compensations, Lily thinks, considering her O.W.L. scores. She smirks.

Pitter. Patter.


	14. Doubt

Drabble Request Thread; for Cuban Sombrero Gal; Remus/Tonks, a light in the darkness.

* * *

**Doubt**

"I don't understand!" I scream furiously. I'm sitting across from my mother at her kitchen table, watching an apple slice turn brown, and I just can't take it anymore. "Why do men always leave?"

Unfair, I know. There are guys out there who do the right thing. There are guys out there who _think _they're doing the right thing, when, really, they're just complete noble prats. Example: my husband.

And my father, so Mum and I have a common grievance there.

Mum leans over and kisses my forehead. "Nymphadora, you know your father is just trying to protect us. And Remus—he needs to figure out what's really important."

"It's not obvious?" I scowl.

Maybe it's growing up with Muggle-born Dad and disowned Mum, but I've never doubted that all you need is love. Sappy, I know—but it's true. Mum's family treated her like she was dead, only with less respect, for years—until 'Aunt' Bellatrix escaped and decided to make the illusion a reality, in fact. Dad's family's great, always making Mum and me feel welcome. But they just don't get magic. And that's okay, but it meant the three of us were sort of an island in ourselves. And we were happy.

One thing Mum's relatives've taught me: you choose your family just as much as you choose your friends.

So Remus's little panic attack, not really making sense to me. It would be different if we knew the baby was going to be a werewolf, but the thing is, it's been about a month since I found out I was pregnant; I stood under the full moon the other night, and nothing.

Anyway, even if the baby is a werewolf, shouldn't Remus be here, helping me brew potions that'll stop the poor kid from killing himself on the full moon? Or herself. We don't know yet.

Just thinking about him is making my hair curl—and not in the good way. Oh, Remus. I love the guy, but does he have some serious issues. What is his problem? Is it really that he doesn't want to hurt me by sticking around and getting arrested by the Ministry or Fenrir Greyback showing up in the backyard? Or is it that he doesn't want to hurt me by admitting this whole time he's been faking? What if he just loves me as a friend—what if he never wanted to get married, not because of the war, or lycanthropy, but because he doesn't want _me_?

"Nymphadora!" Mum's gone white, staring at me.

I twirl a bit of tangled black hair around my finger, and realize I've taken on dear 'Aunt' Bellatrix's appearance.

Horrified, I concentrate, trying to return to my customary bold and cute look.

The thing is, I can't help wondering if Remus-and-me are really the light at the end of the tunnel, or whether we're just a passing train.

I despise myself for thinking…

_If he really loved me, he wouldn't ever leave me._


	15. Titans

Drabble Request Thread; for Nanaho-Hime: Dorcas Meadowes, defiance.

* * *

**Titans**

There's a tradition at Hogwarts. Head Boy and Girl always fall in love.

I doubt we were the first to break said tradition, but Tom Riddle and I took that extra step into mutual loathing.

Not that I'm trying to claim I knew what he was—far from it. I didn't look into his cold eyes and see the soul of a killer, or come upon a particularly blatant show of dominance over his followers—he called them friends, then.

No, I just hated how easy everything was for the guy. The teachers loved him—Dippet thought he was Merlin reborn, would've adopted him if he wasn't afraid of how it would look—he was Slughorn's most prized possession and Aquilinus's favorite student—which last particularly stung, because Arithmancy was my best subject, and he and I were tied—tied!—I hate him.

Okay, so maybe I was a little jealous.

I mean, even _Dumbledore _praised him, and normally, he hates Slytherins.

I bet the Prof doesn't let himself remember those days now.

Fact is, Tom got all that, not because he was smart, which he was, or because he deserved it, because he didn't, did he?—but because he was handsome.

And he _was_ really handsome. Honestly, I don't know why he threw away his looks—no, I do though. Before he found out his father was a Muggle, he used to be proud of resembling him so nearly. Bragged about it to the whole class.

Idiot.

He was so good-looking everyone thought he couldn't be bad—not even a misogynist jerk, much less a mass murderer—although he's both.

Never trust a pretty Slytherin, that's what I always say.

And now—well, nothing's really changed, has it? He's still doing the same old thing—recruit followers, charm the powers-that-be…he's a coward, though: he could be leading his famous army of evil, but instead he hides in the shadows.

Perhaps he's ashamed of losing those looks after all.

All in all, I'm not surprised when he brushes aside my protective enchantments like tissue-paper—both because I knew he would come, eventually—it's hard to ignore your only real rival for top cumulative grade point average—and because we were partners more than once, in the old days: he knows my style.

I suppose he's here to kill me—

But he opens the conversation without a curse: "Dorcas…it's been a long time. I've…missed you."

Liar. This must mean he wants to recruit me. Doesn't he know better? Our personal history alone—not to mention the whole taking-over-the-world, unstoppably-evil thing. Do I look like a pushover?

Then again, Tom always was a bit of an idiot—an intellectual idiot, yes, but still an idiot.

It's then I realize that he's going to kill me, no matter what I do—so I'll make him regret it.

I turn, slowly, to face Tom, reaching for my wand, and purr, "Hello, lover."


	16. Simple

Did Snape know that Pettigrew was the spy who turned Lily and James over to Voldemort? What was going through his mind after the third task when Dumbledore told him to go back to being a spy and said he and Sirius would have to be civil to one another?

Here is one possibility, in drabble form.

* * *

**Simple**

How? How!?! How can Dumbledore expect me to work with that—_that_—there are no words foul enough for such a traitor, and I know more curses, both magical and otherwise, than all of their precious Order combined!

I'm late already, of course—I should be calming down, channeling my emotions into other things, letting this anger be for Dumbledore's idiocy rather than Black's treachery. I know that, it's what I do—sure, it's been awhile, but it's not like you forget how.

The Dark Lord won't be pleased with me.

The others will be there—Lucius, that coward Avery, Crabbe and Goyle, the resident illiterate idiots, Jugson, pathetic excuse for a wizard…

Shall I tell him about Barty Crouch Jr.? Better dead than what happened to him, not that the Dark Lord will care…

I just can't understand it; I know the Potter brat misguidedly thought Black was his friend, does Dumbledore think I've forgotten last year? Any other students would've been expelled, but oh, no, we need him, he's the Chosen One—

I still say he'd be safer away from this pestilential school. After all, he treats rules like mild suggestions—

Black, he's the problem—but if he were really a traitor, a Death Eater, if he'd really meant to betray _her_ to the Dark Lord, Dumbledore would never let him near precious Harry, I do him that justice—

Black may be a murderer, or if not, only through lack of success, but he was extremely loyal to Potter (the elder) and never, _ever_—

Besides, if he'd joined the Dark Lord Bellatrix'd be bragging still.

Dumbledore can't mean he wants me to be civil to that monster! Black destroyed the only good person in this world, and now her son looks upon him as a savior?

I suppose…it must have been an accident. After all, Pettigrew was a spy but she and Potter would never have trusted him enough to tell him the truth—not she, she knew better—_Black_ was their Secret-Keeper, _Black _betrayed them—

Perhaps it was accidental? I doubt he's skilled at Occlumency—something everyone should learn—

I breathe deeply, trying to regain my focus. I'm striding toward the doors of the castle, robes swirling about my feet; hardly anyone is about, they're all still crowding round Diggory's body, I expect: vultures.

That must be it, of course: Black meant to keep their secret, but the Dark Lord captured him, looked into his mind, and knew.

It's the only explanation.

And now Dumbledore believes his protestations of guilt and tales of innocence, which is why he's trusting that bigoted idiot to watch over _her son._

Potter brat, Severus, you're about to meet the Dark Lord after thirteen years, seven months, three weeks, three days, and an extra two hours on your end, don't ruin everything by thinking of her—he's got her eyes, green like the Killing Curse—

She could slay me any time with one glance from those beautiful eyes—

Focus. Breathe. Apparate.


	17. Vengeance

Drabble Request Thread; for OCDdegrassi; Pansy/Draco, revenge ("revenge is sweeter than you ever were")

* * *

**Vengeance**

"Where did you get that?" Draco demands, staring at the pink bottle, sans label, in his son's hands.

"Rose gave it to me," Scorpius tells him casually. He throws his blonde head back and takes a swig. "She's my girlfriend now, and I love her."

Draco stares at his sixteen-year-old son in horror.

--

"What did you do?" Draco's voice is harsh.

Pansy laughs wickedly. "Do? Me?"

"It was you! I traced that loathsome pink love potion from the Weasley girl to you—you got it from her uncle's shop and gave it to her! Send instructions as well? 'Here's how to ensnare a Malfoy, with personal commentary'?" Draco says furiously. "Are you trying to ruin my son's life by getting him to throw himself away on that half-blood slut?"

Pansy giggles again. "Would you blame me if I was?" She gazes up into his cold gray eyes and sighs contentedly. "Honestly, Draco, revenge is sweeter than you ever were."

"You—!" Draco grabs Pansy's shoulders and shakes her violently, angry words and curses tangling in his throat.

Pansy leans up and kisses him savagely. Draco, revolted, tries to pull away. Pansy twists in his arms and Disapparates.

He can hear her mocking laugh in his thoughts for hours.

--

"So I was thinking," Astoria suggests later that evening. "We should invite Rose Weasley and her friends over—maybe an end-of-school bash? I'll ask Scorpius to give me the names of everyone he thinks we should put on the guest list."

"Not Ron Weasley," Draco says immediately. "I won't have that idiotic cretin in my home."

"All right," agrees Astoria. "But it may come to that, if Scorpius and Rose decide to get married someday."

"WHAT?" Draco exclaims. "I won't allow it!"

Astoria sighs, leans over his chair, and gives her husband a gentle kiss. "Whatever you say, dear," she says, crossing her fingers.

--

"Mmm, you are so beautiful."

"You're not bad-looking yourself."

"I'd like to bathe in _your_ Elixir of Life…"

"Scorpius, you wicked wizard!"

"I love you when you're angry…"

"You _love_ me?"

"Rose, how could I not? You're the sun in my world. Without you, I'd be a cold ball of rock."

"That's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me…Oh, Scorpius! I love you, too!"

Draco sinks his head in his hands. There seems no hope. Unless—

--

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and Rose Margaret Weasley," Draco says formally. "I've given you both Veritaserum. You will now tell me the truth about your…relationship."

"Dad? You know you're crazy, right?"

"Scorpius, do you love the Weaselspawn?"

"_Excuse _me? I've got a name, Mr. Malfoy!"

"I love her."

"Weasley, did you use a love potion to make my son fall in love with you?"

"What? No!"

"You're sure?"

"Dad!"

"Okay, okay. Then what was that pink potion she gave you?"

"Firewhiskey, concealed in a perfume bottle!"

Scorpius and Rose look identically outraged.

Draco shrugs. Inwardly, he seethes.

_Pansy Parkinson,_ he vows, _I'll get you for this._


	18. Maturity

Drabble Request Thread; for EveryShadeOfDeath: Draco, Harry, the missing link

* * *

**Maturity**

"Thank you."

"What?"

"I'm not going to say it again, Potter."

"It's just…you're thanking me? Are you feeling all right, Malfoy?"

"No, actually, I'm not. It may have escaped your notice, what with all the heroics, but you saved my life. Three times. I'm sure you've got far more important rescuees, but—"

"Three times?"

"The Fiendfyre, the Dark Lord's wrath about your famous wand, and my parents. Thanks to you, my family is still together. You could've let my father rot in Azkaban or be Kissed without too much trouble—literally no opposition, if I know my more powerful classmates. In fact, let's face it, you had to go _against_ public opinion. You saved me."

"What about when you were fighting the Death Eaters and we stepped in? I think it's more than three, if you want the truth."

"This _is_ kind of a big deal for me, you know."

"You're saying don't push it?"

"Like you could resist. Potter, Potter, always got to be the hero."

"I didn't ask for this. I'm just glad it's over."

"Me, too."

"I know. You were kind of the missing link, as far as the Elder wand went."

"Great, just what I always wanted: get control of the unbeatable wand, have my own wand stolen, get on the Dark Lord's hit list…"

"But you didn't give in—you didn't kill anyone."

"How do you know?"

"Give it up, Draco: I had your wand for weeks. Ever heard of Priori Incantatem?"

"Actually—yes."

"There you are then."

"Quite. So...what are you going to do now? Be Minister for Magic? Conquer a third-world nation? Write your memoirs?"

"Thought I'd get some rest. You?"

"Well, in spite of your timely assistance, there'll still be bribes to the relevant people. And the funerals."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"S'okay—you lost people, too."

"S'why they call it war, I guess."

"I hate it."

"Well, it's over, isn't it? Thanks to you. You're quite the hero. Always knew you'd do it if anyone could—all a question of when."

"Thanks, Draco. That means a lot."

"Quote 'coming from you' unquote? Well, you're welcome, anyway, Potter."

"Call me Harry."

"This is surreal."

"Your mother okay?"

"Yeah, now Father's back. That was some fast work, Savior of the Wizarding World."

"You're full of compliments today."

"We'll be all right. And so will you. Harry."

"Thanks, Draco."

"Well. See you around?"

"Count on it. Oh, and Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks accepted."


	19. Friends

Drabble Request Thread; for PiperPaigePhoebe01; Draco/Ginny "Things have changed, haven't they?"

Also for the New Year Challenge: I used quotes 1, 38, 59.

* * *

**Friends**

"I hate Ministry parties," Ginny Potter mutters, as she snags a champagne flute. Only five minutes to go to midnight, and her famous husband is up on the platform being talked at by the Minister and dozens of reporters—without her.

"You too, huh?" a wry voice asks from behind her. Ginny whirls.

"What are_ you_ doing here?"

"Flattering, Weasel," Draco Malfoy smirks sardonically.

Embarrassed, Ginny backtracks. "It's just—I didn't know your family was still getting invited to these things."

He shrugs. "Thanks to your husband, why not?" A reference to Harry's testimony, upon which the Malfoys' pardons were almost entirely based. "Besides, it's not like we were _friends _with Voldemort, you know."

"You called him Voldemort," Ginny says slowly. She looks him over, noting changes since their school days. Amazing how you can lose touch with your husband's greatest rival. His hair is combed severely back from his high forehead, his eyes are darker, his shoulders are broader…He still towers over her in his expensive robes, but then, even Harry towers over Ginny.

"You're different," she accuses.

"And you're more beautiful than ever," he assures her.

She blushes in spite of herself. Was he always this polite? She grabs a glass for him from a passing champagne tray, hands it to him, and lifts her own. "To change," she says, and drinks.

"Things have changed, haven't they?" he agrees, watching her.

"Yeah," Ginny says, smiling. "I guess they have. How have you been, anyway, Draco?" she asks generously, thinking she might as well do the mingling thing. Even if it is Draco Malfoy.

"I'm well. I'm married, you know. And—" he Summons a photograph from thin air, "this is my daughter," proudly.

Ginny takes the photograph, and hands him one of her own small son, James. "She's beautiful," Ginny says, thinking Draco has reason to be proud. The baby has a few strands of blonde hair, and very blue eyes. In the photo, she's clapping her hands and feet together, laughing. She's adorable.

"So is he," Draco says. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." They exchange photos again. A sudden thought strikes Ginny, and she giggles. "Hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if they got married someday?"

"What, my daughter and Potter's son?" Draco asks, horrified. "Don't joke about that, Weasel!"

"Who says I was joking?" Ginny starts, but she's drowned out by the countdown.

High above their heads, giant blue numbers appear.

"TEN!"

Draco, his champagne gone, reaches for another glass. "Don't they serve anything stronger at these bloody Ministry get-ups?" he complains.

"EIGHT!"

"When did you get so normal?" Ginny demands of Draco.

He raises an eyebrow.

"SIX!"

Ginny's feeling a little reckless. "Kiss me at midnight!" she shouts.

"FOUR!"

"What?" Draco cups a hand around his ear.

"TWO!"

Ginny sets Draco's glass down.

"ONE!"

She grabs him and kisses him, throwing caution (and possibly Harry's reputation) to the winds.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"Wow," Draco says, grinning at her, "that was the best kiss I've had all night."


	20. Dignity

Drabble Request Thread; for OCDdegrassi; Lucius Malfoy, "I used to be the King here, Now I don't mean a thing here, Where did it all go wrong?"

* * *

**Dignity**

They say that, just before you die, your whole life passes before your eyes.

And they're right.

I was raised knowing my father was a powerful man, with the world at his fingertips. And that someday, all that was going to be mine.

When the Dark Lord said those dreadful words, at first I couldn't believe my ears—I used to be the King here—now I don't mean a thing here—

And then, when I realized what was happening—where did it all go wrong?

I was six years old again, watching my father discipline a house-elf—"Son, pay attention: we are better than them, therefore they serve us." _We are better._

I was eight, my mother's hand on my shoulder telling me to bow before Mrs. Black and her daughters. My eyes sought out the prettiest of them all, her blonde hair shining and her smile the sweetest I've ever seen—

I was eleven, and the Sorting Hat was telling me I belonged in Slytherin…

I was thirteen. "You mean I'm engaged to the _second_ Black girl? Mother, she's a nightmare!"

"Now, darling, she's of excellent family…"

I was sixteen, standing in front of my peers. "The Dark Lord is gaining strength…" I was tapped as Bellatrix's successor for head of the Dark Lord's Hogwarts Auxiliary. An honor.

I was seventeen, kissing Narcissa in the Quidditch changing rooms…she wrinkled her nose. "This place smells awful."

"We could go…somewhere more _private_…"

I was eighteen, watching my fiancée throw her whole life away and inwardly rejoicing because now I could marry her sister…

I was twenty, standing in the rain at my mother's funeral…

I was twenty-one, receiving the family cane from my father with plenty of pomp and circumstance…

I was twenty-two. "…Then I now pronounce you bonded for life," and Narcissa was kissing me…

I was twenty-four, and Narcissa was hitting me, furiously, because she'd just lost the baby…

I was twenty-six, and the Healers were handing me my son, my Draco…

I was twenty-seven. The Dark Lord was gone.

I was twenty-nine, and Draco was sending his toys to float on the ceiling—that's my boy.

I was thirty-one, youngest member of Hogwarts' Board of Governors.

I was thirty-seven, watching my son speed away from me on the Hogwarts Express…

I was thirty-eight, trying to explain to Narcissa how I'd lost us our smartest house-elf…

I was forty, and the Dark Lord was punishing me for not finding him (or even looking)…

I was forty-one, fishing my wife's sister's hair out of the drain…

I was forty-three, watching Dementors waft past my cell, knowing even outside Azkaban all hope was lost…

And there I was.

_Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand._

My world shattered. "I…"

Narcissa's cool fingers on my wrist. I could hear her thoughts: _Be strong. For Draco. For me._

I gave in. Let the Dark Lord steal this final shred of dignity from me.

But someday, I will be King here again.


	21. Trust

Drabble Request Thread; for thelightningstrike, James and Narcissa, "I can't keep loving you."

* * *

**Trust**

It starts when James is at St. Mungo's with Lily—"Nothing to worry about, dear, just false labor." Lily's resting, so James wanders the halls.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" A woman's scream; James runs.

"Out! Are you the father?"

He doesn't speak, staring past the Healer at the blonde woman on the bed. Her mouth is open in a now-silent scream.

"Then you can stay, but keep out of our way!" the Healer takes his silence for assent.

Mute, James moves to the woman's side. Her fingers grip his hand with surprising strength.

Hours later, he's as exhausted as she is. It was a hard labor.

"My baby," she croons. The boy's chin is rather too sharp, and he has a few strands of almost-white hair.

"He's beautiful," James lies, and is rewarded when she smiles.

"He's my Draco," she sings, "Draco Malfoy."

_Malfoy?_ James stares at her in shock. "Where's his father?" he manages to get out.

She looks down, quickly. "Business."

The kind that involves killing innocent people? James knows Lucius Malfoy by reputation. He doesn't deserve this blonde angel. Doesn't deserve such a wonderful family.

But for the first time, James thinks maybe Death Eaters are human, too.

--

He doesn't see her again for a couple of months. Harry is born. Lily stays home more now.

It's after a successful mission. He and Sirius are celebrating at the pub. Sirius has a girl on either arm.

James is bored.

There's a flash of gold—she's not drinking, just staring at the countertop.

James feels proprietary toward her, after helping her have a baby and all, and he's by her side before he realizes he's moved.

"Narcissa," he breathes.

--

She tastes like vanilla and sin and cold metal—her fingers twine in his untamable hair and she stands on tiptoe to reach him—she really is a tiny thing, his hands could span her waist—

"Godric, you are so beautiful," he moans into her golden hair when she moves against him—

--

"When can I see you again?" he asks.

"When're you free?" she counters. The candlelight darkens her eyes.

"Well, I have—_something_—tomorrow night," he thinks aloud.

"Where? Maybe I could meet you. After."

"Okay—Hog's Head, eleven-ish. Should be finished."

"Hogwarts business?"

Noncommittal shrug. Good-bye kiss.

--

Weeks pass. Sirius laughs, like always, and James feels a sliver of guilt. She's Sirius's cousin, after all. And he never hides anything from his best friend.

Lily looks frazzled, taking care of Harry constantly, still no word from Dumbledore, but he's been hearing things, whispers about You-Know-Who and children—

"I can't keep loving you," he tells Narcissa finally.

She runs her fingers through his hair and her tongue over his lips, and he forgets the rest of his prepared speech—her name the only thing echoing in his thoughts—

--

Narcissa smirks behind her hair. James is proving very useful, and if he chooses to think her golden crown a halo, who is she to enlighten him?


	22. Corruption

For the Valentine's Day Challenge; I used 'rose,' 'pink,' 'red,' 'heart,' 'love,' 'card,' and 'secret admirer.'

* * *

**Corruption**

Dorcas Meadowes pauses, reluctant to enter the Great Hall. Overnight, the walls were decorated with pink streamers, and now confetti (also pink) is falling leisurely from the ceiling. The staff look variously disgruntled and delighted (Dorcas catches an almost Slytherin-like glee on Professor Dumbledore's face), and the four House tables are laden with heart-shaped cereal and raspberry juice.

Taking a deep breath, Dorcas steps forward and enters the nightmare.

"Dorcas! Dorcas!" calls her friend Callie Selwyn, jumping up on the bench and waving a sealed envelope in the air. "You've got a secret admirer!"

Dorcas rolls her eyes. She might have known he would do something like this.

"Give me that," she says crossly, sitting down and casting a cursory glance over the table in hopes of finding some non-theme breakfast.

"Open it, open it!" Callie shouts.

The envelope, Dorcas notes, is black. Not pink, not red, but black. How very appropriate. She almost smiles like the idiot she's not, but catches herself.

She opens the envelope. Inside, the card is also black. No frills, no little hearts, no "sweets for the sweet." The card has white, block letters, reading:

_Tonight. Astronomy tower. Wear that little black dress._

The card is unsigned. Dorcas supposes that technically qualifies it as from a Secret Admirer. She neither giggles nor shrieks, but tucks the card back into its envelope, the envelope into an inner pocket of her robes, and surveys the table.

There are flowers from little Jeffie Davies, all pink roses for romantic love. Dorcas doesn't think Jeffie is ready for real love, which is painful and messy. There's a prim and proper card from Cygnus Black, who is also too young for Dorcas, though not by as much.

"Well?" begs Callie, unable to restrain herself any longer. "Aren't you going to tell me what it said?"

"Not even remotely," Dorcas says, and leaves to find some coffee without pounds of soggy confetti at the bottom.

All day, she carries the card, more as a matter of convenience than a romantic gesture. She's really very exasperated, all the more so as her concentration becomes increasingly fractured. She tells herself it's because all she had for breakfast was that coffee, and pretends she doesn't notice when Dippet, just passing by, gives _him _twenty points and her none at all.

"I knew you'd come," he says that night, running his hands over her bare arms (she shivers, and not from the cold) and down her hips to the hem of her dress (not a long journey, that).

"You're evil," she says, with conviction.

He laughs, and runs his fingers through her hair. "And you love me for it."

She sighs softly and cups his face in her hands. "No, Tom Riddle," she says, staring into his cold eyes, "I hate you for it."

He kisses her then, passionately and fiercely (and draws a V on her back with one sharp nail). When they break apart for air, he smirks. "Keep telling yourself that."


	23. Distress

For the Fragment Challenge, Percy/Audrey, meeting. (Are they obscure enough?)

* * *

**Distress**

"Here, Davis, take these down to Percy Weasley in Magical Cooperation; and pick me up a coffee on your way back," Audrey Davis's boss, Gawain Robards, says casually.

Audrey Davis is a tall, athletic witch about twenty-two years old, with excellent credentials. Her N.E.W.T. scores were phenomenal, and she has a rare gift—the ability to understand complex numerical equations.

Of course, as Gawain Robards' secretary, her most demanding duties involve writing memos, buying coffee, and listening to Mrs. Robards firecall to complain that Gawain isn't home yet, which she does _every _evening.

"Yes, sir," says Audrey, picking up the stack of parchment and reflecting, for about the thousandth time, how much simpler life would be if she hadn't been in Slytherin.

"Hey, Davis!" Jack Sloper calls as he and Andrew Kirke pass her to enter the lift. "Why aren't you wearing those cute little green robes? _I love _Slytherins in the workplace," he adds to Kirke. "Woo-hoo!"

Sloper and Kirke laugh uproariously. "Pretty little snakey," Kirke attempts to sneer.

To Audrey, who has seen real sneers, it falls somewhat flat. She ignores Kirke and Sloper, who, she suspects, lurk around the lift on various floors just to torment her. This isn't the first time they've jeered at her.

Still, Audrey Davis is no sniveling little cry-Gryffindor. She walks past them as if they aren't there, on her way to Percy Weasley's office. He's Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation now—the Minister felt he was the most experienced candidate, after the war. Audrey's heard a lot about him.

Sloper sticks out a foot, and Audrey stumbles, and almost falls. She recovers herself in time, but not before the pile of parchment scatters onto the floor. She bends down to retrieve them, trying not to listen to Sloper and Kirke's laughter and crude humor. She ought to just Summon them, but she's not allowed a wand at work. They'd get disordered anyway.

Audrey is so busy not listening that she doesn't hear the door at the end of the hall open. "What's all this?" a man asks sternly.

"I'm just delivering the new International Security Reports to Mr. Weasley, sir," Audrey says, without looking up. It's a good idea, in her position, to call everyone sir. She ought to give the strange man a nod or something as well, but the last piece of parchment is just within her reach—

"Sloper, Kirke, the Ministry_ does not tolerate _sexual harassment, so I suggest you don't let the lift doors hit you on the way back down to level six," the man says coldly.

Audrey looks up, and meets warm brown eyes, currently narrowed in anger (for once, not directed at her), in a handsome face. Red hair, taller than Audrey (always so hard to find men who match her height)…

Sloper and Kirke trip over themselves in the background, and Audrey thinks she's fallen in love.

"Hi," he says, extending a hand to help her rise. "I'm Percy Weasley."


	24. Covention

The Drabble Request Thread; for Nanaho-Hime, Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, "Obedience makes a Black girl successful, and duty makes a Black girl loved." "Don't forget, you're a Potter now." "Don't be scared."

**Convention**

"Dorrie! Come sit with me!" Charis Black beckons wildly to her cousin Dorea, who slumps resignedly onto the Slytherin bench beside her. "I'm Head Girl this year!" Charis gushes. "It's such an honor—"

She goes on. Dorrie Black listens with half an ear, mind already on her N.E.W.T. classes, and this Transfiguration tutor her parents have found for her. She still doesn't see why she needs a _tutor_.

It's a week later when Dorrie meets him.

"Hi," he says, extending a friendly hand and pushing his glasses higher on his nose with the other. "I'm Charlus Potter. Call me Charlie."

"Whatever," sighs Dorrie. He's not too bad looking, but she's sixteen, and he's…older. Late twenties, early thirties? Why'd her parents send her this aging geek?

"This is so unfair," she complains to Charis. "A tutor? What am I, seven?"

"Now, now…" Charis says playfully. "'Obedience makes a Black girl successful, and duty makes a Black girl loved.'"

"So, what? 'Get over it'?" Dorrie frowns. "And who told you that, anyway?"

Charis shrugs. "Mother."

They both laugh.

Dorrie goes on with her schoolwork, her social life…she's dating Jeremiah Jugson, a redheaded, unromantic seventh-year, until he gets on her nerves so much she can't help but break it off…

Later that night, she stares at her hangings, wondering why she wishes Jeremiah had messy, black hair, glasses he always pushed up his nose, and an awkward grace.

Seventh year is a whirlwind of studying, shepherding the next generation—cousins Lucretia and Walburga—around, and Charis firecalling for help with her debut ball; Dorrie hasn't time to dwell on messy hair and glasses—she barely has time for their weekly review sessions.

"YES!" she wants to scream, when she's looking over her Transfiguration exam paper and she realizes she didn't have to skip a single question; she's a Black, though, so she doesn't even whisper—but she can't wait to tell Charlie.

"I guess this is goodbye, then," Charlie says, blinking behind his glasses.

"I guess," Dorrie starts, and then she throws caution to the winds, and kisses him.

"You're a student," he protests, "I shouldn't—"

"Not anymore," Dorrie counters, and they share a grin.

"Don't be scared," Dorrie whispers, the night she takes Charlie to meet her parents. "They're going to love you."

"Ha," he replies succinctly.

In the end, they're both right. Cygnus and Violetta and Dorrie's big sister Cassiopeia don't love Charlie, but they do love that he's a pureblood of not-insignificant wealth, and so they're gracious.

"You're rich; why'd you tutor me for two years?" Dorrie demands, later.

"I'm a teacher; besides, how could I turn _you _down?" Charlie answers. Dorrie grins, secure in her power.

The wedding is a few months later. Charis helps pin Dorrie's veil, her father walks her down the aisle…

Finally, Charlie's carrying her over the threshold of his family mansion.

"You're a Potter now, Dorrie," he says, rather smugly.

"At last," Dorrie murmurs, thinking of her wretched family, "I'm free."


	25. Rebellion

Drabble Request Thread: for Cuban Sombrero Gal; Cedric, coffee

**Rebellion**

Another day, another meaningful exchange of glances with Fleur and awkward conversation with Viktor. Another twelve hours of watching all eyes turn to me in the Great Hall, in classes—until Potter shows up, and then it's all him.

"Did you hear about that interview?"

"Reckon he's telling the truth about You-Know-Who and all?"

"Nah—he's cracked…"

They say Harry's crazy, but I notice he's the one they all talk about. No matter what I do, I'll never be the Chosen One.

I'm just me: Cedric Diggory, decent Seeker, decent student, decent person—I hope.

I've only been awake for half an hour, but I already feel exhausted.

"Diggory, hey Diggory! What's up?"

"Ced, man, what'd you get for number four in Defense?"

"Hey, support Diggory, at least he's not _Potter_!"

What a slogan, right? "At least he's not Potter." Harry's fourteen, definitely too young to be in this Tournament, and yet he and I are _tied _for first place? What is going on here?

Either the age line wasn't really necessary because a first-year could do it, or else someone's been helping Harry. Maybe that Hermione Granger; everyone says she's the best in their year, although I've never heard of anyone outscoring a Ravenclaw when it comes to examinations.

Except for that one test of Cho's that she bombed. Bring it up at your peril—she's fierce when she's angry.

I slump into my seat at the Hufflepuff table, and then immediately straighten my back when I see Ernie MacMillan giving me a disapproving glare. Why am I burdened with these people's expectations? Why was I born with such contemporaries? Such _idiotic _contemporaries, some of them.

"Want some toast, Cedric?"

"Here, I got you some pumpkin juice—"

"How about some bacon?"

I shudder inwardly. "Just—coffee, thanks." And I pour it_ myself_.


	26. Truth

Drabble Request Thread: for Bad Mum; Remus Lupin, letters, a sandwich, a bookcase

**Truth**

"Dear Mr. Lupin, we regret to inform you that your application has been rejected…"

"Dear Mr. Lupin, thank you so much for applying for our job. Your record is very good, and we are sorry to say…"

"Dear Insert-Applicant's-Name-Here, we are desolated/distressed/saddened to tell you that we are unable to offer you a job at this time, due to an unprecedented number of applications/harsh economic times/a small error in your paperwork…"

Remus J. Lupin, eighteen years old, having graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an impressive array of N.E.W.T.s, and modestly aware of his talents in a variety of areas from Transfiguration to cleanliness, permits himself the indulgence of throwing this last letter to the floor and stamping upon it.

"Moony," complains the cultured voice of his flatmate, Sirius Black. "What's that racket?"

"Oh, nothing," Remus calls back. "Just the sound of my professional career dropping like a stone," he mutters, and Summons the newspaper. Another day of circling want ads and rearranging furniture stretches before him, bleakly.

Sirius appears, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Hey, isn't Prongs bringing Lily-Vanilly over later?"

"Of course," Remus nods, remembering that today is the day—no, he won't think about it. What if Lily hates him, once she finds out the truth?

Remus takes a deep breath and a bite of an old sandwich, unfortunately simultaneously.

When he's quite finished coughing, and Sirius has patted him vaguely on the back a number of times, Remus can pretend his eyes are watering from the unfortunate almost-choking-to-death, which could happen to anyone.

"Lily," Prongs—James—says, once he's got his fiancée ensconced in the most comfortable armchair. Remus waits, spine stiff and teeth clenched. "There's something you should know about me. Only, in order to tell you, I've got to explain about Remus. You see, he—" James pauses uncertainly.

Lily smiles and pats his hand. "James. I know."

"No, you couldn't possibly—no one knows this, I mean, really—" James glances at Remus, then says, quietly, "Remus is…a werewolf."

James, Sirus and Remus wait with baited breath for Lily's reaction. What if—? screams senselessly through Remus's mind.

"I _know,"_ Lily says, fighting to keep the humor out of her voice and failing.

"What do you—how could you—you_ know_?" James exclaims.

Lily shrugs. "No offense, but it does kind of leap to the intelligence."

Sirius glares, obviously resentful of Lily's smug assurance. Remus feels a leaping joy in his stomach, because Lily knows, has known for ages, and she doesn't hate him. Watching her vibrant hair and brighter spirit, he thinks it's almost enough.

"I'm an Animagus—we all are—bet you didn't know that!" James says triumphantly.

Lily grins. "_I _bet you make the cutest Animagus ever," she says lightly.

Remus leans against the bookcase, relief coursing through him. He's not even jealous of the way James's fingers curl possessively around Lily's wrist, he's not…

_She knows, and she doesn't think I'm a monster…_


	27. History

Author's Note: this is extremely far into the future; the Next-Gen characters are great-grandparents. Hopefully it's not too confusing!

-------

**History**

"Congratulations, Lilia! I came as soon as I heard—we should celebrate!" Seben West exclaimed. He was holding a bottle of champagne, and, most uncharacteristically, a smile graced his stern features. He was also somewhat flushed, from having climbed the stairs to the History of Magic classroom two or three at a time.

Lilia Soames, a bright-eyed girl with strawberry-blonde curls who couldn't have been more than eighteen, said, "Thanks," rather absently, and returned to her perusal of a thick volume with closely written pages.

Seben set down the champagne and moved to read over her shoulder. "I see you waste no time, _Professor _Soames," he said lightly. "I couldn't believe it when our fearless Headmaster told me he'd gotten rid of Binns—the ghost has been here, what? Four centuries? Five? It was a mercy exorcism, honestly." He paused, clearly waiting for Lilia to comment.

When she didn't, still absorbed in the book and absently twining a red-gold curl around her fingers, Seben frowned and studied her.

Clearly, she was deeply absorbed; her innocent blue eyes devoured the page, while her adorable mouth was set tightly. Seben longed to reach out and touch that marvelous hair, but restrained himself.

"For Harry Potter's sake!" Lilia exclaimed at length. "I can't believe this! All _that_—triple agenting for both sides, and Sirius Black, and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for _much_ longer than he got credit for—_why?_ Why would anyone—?" she broke off in frustration, and Seben leaned over to scan the passage.

"Oh," he said on a note of comprehension. "You were reading about _Severus Snape_," as though it explained everything. Seben's granddad, whose mother had actually known the great Potter family—Harry, of course, and also famous James Sirius and Lily Luna—had told him stories about Severus Snape—traitor, spy, and, ultimately, hero.

Of course, it was James Sirius and Lily Luna who'd gone down in history—all the girls were named some variant of Lily, these days.

"Sorry about before, I just got access to these top-secret in-school records," Lilia explained. "This one was written by Hermione Weasley, and it's supposed to be _the_ treatise on the Second Great War—" her face lit up with scholarly joy.

Seben reflected that she really was going to make an excellent teacher. He'd only graduated Hogwarts himself a couple of years ago, and come back to take up the post of Arithmancy professor when Lilia was in sixth year. Sure she looked sweet as a kitten, but the students were in for a surprise if they underestimated Binns's successor.

"I just don't understand it," Lilia went on. "Why Snape did so much, when he must've _known_ it was suicide—and for what? A dead true love who married someone else?"

"I'd do it," Seben said quietly. Lilia looked at him. "Right person…person I loved…I'd do it."

Lilia blinked. "Seb, I—_Oh_," she breathed.

And Seben West dared to hope.


	28. Greed

Drabble Request Thread: for Shuna, who wanted Draco, Harry, Lucius, and "Merlin knows why, but it seems like my father has fallen in love with you."

**Greed**

Harry Potter strolled up the steps of Malfoy Manor as though he owned the place. Indeed, the inhabitants were lucky he wasn't in the market for a mansion, for he might well have been forced to avoid a hysterical mob presenting it to him, with their undying gratitude.

After the news he was about to give the Malfoys, they might present the Manor to him themselves.

Yes, the Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived Again had saved the Wizarding world…again.

Harry opened the door, without knocking, and called, "Lily! Come on, we've got to be at the Burrow in an hour for the impromptu celebration!"

There was no answer. Harry frowned, and muttered, "Don't they have any house-elves in this place?" He was in such a triumphant mood he even felt magnanimous enough to forget about the Malfoys' previous house-elf, a dear friend.

"Harry!" sweet Astoria Malfoy hurried forward into the hall, and clasped Harry's hands. "Do you have any news?"

"The best," Harry smiled.

"You mean—?" Lucius Malfoy swept out from behind a convenient tapestry and strode forward, staring at Harry as though he were his own personal savior.

"Yes," Harry said simply—and Lucius crossed the few remaining steps to where Harry stood, and, in full view of Astoria, and Draco, who'd just entered the hall, Lucius kissed Harry firmly on the lips.

It was a short, but _fervent_ embrace; when Lucius pulled away, Harry took a moment to collect himself, and place his wife's image back in the center of his mind, where it belonged.

"Merlin knows why, Potter," Draco drawled, "But it seems like my father has fallen in love with you."

"No way!" fourteen-year-old Lily Potter scoffed, from the landing of the sweeping staircase. She and Draco's daughter Vulpecula had clearly seen the whole thing. Harry felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "What about Grammy Cissy?"

Narcissa Malfoy was universally addressed thus by the younger generation; it had proved an even more difficult habit to break than that of calling Teddy's grandmother Grandromeda.

"Your father has merely brought me some…_excellent_ news," Lucius assured Lily.

"News?" Draco frowned.

"Your inheritance is saved; you can breathe easily again," Harry said sardonically. Normally he wouldn't take refuge in such dangerously Malfoyesque techniques, especially in Malfoy territory, but he still felt slightly off-balance. "The Hapsburg account is solvent, and, unless I'm much mistaken, the entire country is on route to recovery."

"You mean the Desperate Depression is over?" Vulpecula asked, enthusiastically.

"Desperate?" Harry shrugged. "Would you call it _desperate_?"

"_I_ would," Lucius said darkly. "But," on a happier note, "that's all in the past now. Thanks to you, son." He beamed at Harry. "Must've taken some quick work; there's hope for you yet."

"The money is saved?" Draco demanded, looking from his father, to his wife, to his best frenemy (friend-enemy).

Harry nodded.

Draco grinned, for once without a trace of a sneer. "Can _I _kiss you, too?"


	29. Regression

Drabble Request Thread: for Static Lull; Remus, progression, grass

**Regression**

If you were Sirius, you might have a chance with her; you know she absolutely hates him and everything he stands for, but he's_ Sirius_, so every girl in school falls at his feet automatically.

If you were James, it wouldn't worry you when she yelled and hexed you—the only time, since the beginning of sixth year, that she's shown any sort of intense feeling at all—because James has faith in his own charms.

Even if you were Peter, it'd be easier—sure, she probably wouldn't notice you, but then again, at least you wouldn't have all that dear-friend-and-confidante stuff to get past first.

You're stuck in the 'just friends' zone, and you can't see a way out.

Bitterly, you pluck a few more blades of grass from the ground by James's favorite tree, watching Lily.

She's a couple of feet away, back against another tree, rather listlessly turning the pages of a textbook.

"Lily, I really like you," you whisper, staring at her and absently tearing the grass into smaller shreds. "I _really _like you. I think you're the most intelligent, most pulchritudinous girl I've ever known."

Oblivious, she turns a page, and summons up the energy to scowl at James and Sirius, engaged in a raucous game of outdoor Exploding Snap a few feet away. Peter looks on, clapping every time either of them makes a point.

He's quite diplomatic that way; as long as the outcome remains in doubt, he'll cheer both.

You know it's wrong to feel this way about your friend's girl; on the other hand, Lily isn't exactly James's girl, no matter how much he'd like her to be.

And don't you have a right to try your chances, same as anyone?

Then again, you don't, do you? _Anyone_ is not a werewolf.

Self-loathing fills your thoughts. Even if Lily could overlook your curse, would a relationship with you put her in danger?

You're getting ahead of yourself; the only relationship you've ever had with the girl of your dreams is that of trusted friend and scholastic rival.

Not that you don't love James, Sirius, and Peter, but none of them will ever care about school as much as you do.

No one does, except Lily, the Ravenclaws, and possibly Snape.

The thought of Lily's former best friend jerks you out of your reverie, and you stare down at the tiny shreds of grass piled neatly on top of your Arithmancy book.

Still you don't truly see them…

Lily's obviously feeling a dearth of friends right now, and if you're not careful, she'll promote you to chief confidante, and you'll _really_ never have a chance at anything more.

Filled with sudden decision, you rise, walk over to her, kneel in the grass beside her, and just say it: "Lily. I really like you."

She gets up, looks at you—"I really like you, too, Remus," she says, and tousles your hair affectionately.

You despair.


	30. Gossip

Drabble Request Thread: for Bree-utiful; Padma Patil; "Sometimes, I really hate being a twin."

**Gossip**

"Good Godric! You mean she really—with _Zabini_?" My sister asks, wide-eyed. She and that giggling friend of hers are hanging on Cho Chang's every word.

You'd never think it, to look at Chang, but she's a worse gossip than even my sister, or that Parkinson girl in Slytherin.

I sigh, as audibly as I dare, and try to ignore them. Personally, I think Ginny Weasley has suffered enough, what with being in love with Harry Potter her entire life.

And now my twin sister, Parvati, is getting ready to spread vicious gossip about her and Blaise Zabini. There probably isn't any truth in it, but even if there is, the worst I know of him is that he's a Slytherin, and a quarter of the population has suffered that grim fate.

"Apparently, they had quite the tryst in the Room of Requirement," Chang says piously. What a hypocrite.

"Slytherins are _evil,"_ Parvati's giggling friend says fervently. "But _sexy."_

Chang frowns. Obviously she's not willing to go quite that far. I heard she was dating Potter, myself, but then, Chang can't keep a guy; sure, they like her at first, but then she opens her mouth and eventually they realize she's a catty bitch.

Diggory would've, too, if only he'd survived, and I think that's what bothers Chang the most.

"I don't know," Parvati says thoughtfully. "I like the Gryffindor boys."

"Oh, _please,"_ I say, rolling my eyes. I can no longer resist joining their infantile conversation. "I hope you're not referring to Weasley. What a _git_."

"Still miffed he up and left you in the middle of the Yule Ball?" Chang asks innocently.

Godric, but I hate that girl.

"Ron is a cutie," What's-Her-Name, the giggler, says dreamily. "And so's Seamus. And Dean's not bad. Neville's a klutz, but surely he could be trained…and there's Harry, of course."

At that, Chang stiffens. "Harry is—" she says, and visibly bites back the word '_mine_.'

"Whatever," Parvati shrugs, and picks up her bookbag. "I've got a study date with Zach Smith—later."

Chang and What's-Her-Name just wave vaguely, and then lean in so Chang can dish more dirt about Ginny and Zabini, but I follow my sister.

"Parvati," I say, once we reach the corridor, "Zach Smith? Really?"

"I know we've always figured he was a bit of a prat, but he's gotten loads better lately," Parvati says, oblivious to my annoyance. "I think the DA's been an absolute blessing, as far as getting people communicating. The less prejudice there is, the tougher it'll be for You-Know-Who, right?"

Wrong. Nothing we do is going to make a difference to You-Know-Who one way or another.

But I don't say that.

"Fine," I snarl, instead. "Like Ginny and Zabini, you mean?"

"Padma," Parvati remonstrates. "You know I feel for Ginny—"

"No, I really don't, Parvati," I say, not caring that my volume is rising. "I think you only feel for yourself!"

As I storm off, I think bitterly: sometimes, I really hate being a twin.


	31. Commitment

Drabble Request Thread: for Static Lull; Regulus Black, Lily Evans, uncommitted

**Commitment**

Career Advice.

Regulus can't help but find the whole thing a bit ridiculous. After all, he knows what he wants to do when he grows up: he's going to join the Dark Lord and help usher in a new world order.

But, even if it weren't for that, he'd never have the time for a proper career, not considering the heaps of financial muddles he'll have to wade through, since, now Sirius has run off and disgraced the name, he's the only heir.

Regulus is not looking forward to long drill sessions where his father explains the basic concept of how to take perfectly good money and turn it into even more money.

Bored, listless, and strangely without direction for someone whose entire life was planned out before he was born, Regulus wanders the halls, a good half an hour early for his appointment with Slughorn.

He's just decided to nip back to his room and grab a book to pass the time, when Lily Evans, the girl his disowned brother's best friend has been crushing on since as long as Regulus can remember, appears and walks briskly toward him.

Unsettled, Regulus wonders what on earth Snape's Little Mudblood could possibly want with him—though, come to think of it, she isn't Snape's Little Mudblood anymore; the poor bloke's been fielding snarky comments, vulgar suggestions, and even more hexes than usual since the beginning of Regulus's fifth year.

"What do you want?" he asks, trying to sound as haughty as his father.

She blinks at him. "Slughorn," she says, as though it's obvious.

"With a student," Regulus offers, wincing inwardly. What is he doing, being polite to filth like her? Civil conversations with the enemy are frowned upon, where he comes from.

Evans nods, and slumps against the wall, on the other side of the door from where he leans against it, too.

For a long moment, neither speaks.

"You…" Evans says, then bites her lip. Regulus frowns at her.

"What?"

For a minute, he thinks she's going to chicken out, but then she squares her shoulders and says, "You see Severus—_Snape_—around, right?"

Regulus nods, bewildered.

"Is he…okay?"

Enlightened, Regulus nods again. "Sure." He catches a glimpse of relief and anger in her eyes, and decides she's clearly confused.

Funny—she must really care about Snape after all. And why not? He's a decent bloke, if on the sardonic side, obsessed with weird herbs best left to Potions class, and in need of some serious hair product.

"Thanks," Evans says softly, and that's what gives Regulus the courage. After all, she owes him a favor now. The 'thanks' is practically a formal acknowledgment of his hold over her.

"Evans," he asks, "Do you ever feel…uncommitted?"

"Career Advice, huh?" She says sympathetically.

Regulus nods again, and Evans doesn't answer his question. Instead, they stand in companionable silence, until the door opens, and Slughorn beckons.

Regulus steps forward to meet his destiny. He doesn't look back.


	32. Monsters

Drabble Request Thread: for Writting2StayHalfSane; "They say that what you mock / Will surely overtake you / And you become a monster / So the monster will not break you." Warning: dark.

**Monsters**

It's the end of the world.

And you're not overdramatizing, you really aren't. You can see James now, laughing, and telling you to "lighten up, Sirius, mate! Could be worse!"

Except it couldn't be.

You've lost him. You've lost everything.

And all you can think is that it's all your fault.

Well—that, and just how you're going to kill Peter, the little rat, when you finally find him.

The guilt is staggering, but you can't seem to get hold of the anger just now. Everything is a blank, like all the color has been leached out of the landscape.

You're oddly dispassionate, about killing Peter. It's a job that must be done. You know it won't bring James back—know that nothing will ever fill the hole he's left in your heart.

Losing him to Lily-Vanilly was nothing to this.

Briefly, you remember that she's dead, too, but you can't summon more despair—it feels like you've hit rock bottom.

This really is the end.

They say that what you mock will surely overtake you. Memories flood your thoughts—Peter, the traitor, laughing nervously, clapping at your and James's antics, trailing after you like some overgrown pet…

And you, making it clear that's how you thought of him. Nothing overt—little remarks here and there, that's all.

You should have remembered that Peter was always quick on the uptake.

You would have died for him—but you never liked him much.

You know you're close—gaining on him. Soon it will all be over.

At last, you corner him on a crowded street in Muggle London. No one pays much attention as you raise your wand.

"Time to end this, _Wormtail_," you say, twisting his name into a curse without effort. You've spent years hearing that from your parents, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins…

You always thought you were better than they were. But now you know James was the good one. You only scorned your family's cruelty, prejudices, secrets, and lies because James did. He was braver, always.

And now you become a monster, so the monster will not break you. Of course, it still will—but you will avenge James first. Then you will succumb to the darkness within.

"Lily and James, Sirius!" Peter shouts, voice shaking, as always. "How could you?!"

"What?" you say, totally confused. Obviously, the two of you aren't having the same conversation. For one brief moment, you have a tiny sliver of doubt. Maybe there's been some terrible mistake—or maybe Veritaserum, a trick—if only you'd been there to protect Peter, James would still be alive.

That's when the world explodes.

When the dust clears, hit wizards are appearing all around you. And there are bodies on the ground—unmoving.

You realize even vengeance is denied you. You've failed James again.

And all you can do is laugh.


	33. Crush

Drabble Request Thread: for StoryGirl02; Marlene McKinnon, "why are you so obsessed with me?"

**Crush**

"She's following me _again_," Sirius complained.

"Aw, poor Padfoot, getting chased by a girl," teased James. "_He _likes to be the chas_er_."

"He's not the only one," Remus said dryly.

"Worked, didn't it?" James said defensively.

"Now, now, let's not get sidetracked," Sirius said. "I believe we were talking about _my _stalker, not James's_ finally_ successful love affair with Lily-Vanilly. You realize she could be a Death Eater under Polyjuice? Probably learning all our secret hideouts, like this dilapidated old shack." He gestured deprecatingly at the latest Order headquarters.

"It_ is_ a bit…rank," commented Remus, wrinkling his sensitive nose.

"Come on," James said, grabbing Remus and Peter's shoulders and shoving them ahead of him toward the door. "Let's leave Sirius to his, er…_stalker_."

"Heartless bastards," Sirius grumbled, and Peter wavered, as though considering remaining, for moral support.

"You'll be fine," James said bracingly, pushing Peter forward. "She's just a girl."

Sirius scowled, but waited for his, er…_stalker_, hands shoved into his pockets.

"Hey, Black," she said, panting a bit from running to catch up. Her hair bounced, and Sirius frowned, because she was just _such _a schoolgirl.

"McKinnon," he acknowledged grudgingly.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously. "Aren't you going to the meeting?"

"Waiting for you," Sirius shrugged, and smiled charmingly. It was the smile that always worked on girls.

McKinnon tilted her head, studying him. "Why are you so obsessed with me?"

Sirius almost groaned aloud. "What is _wrong _with you?" he muttered, and, grabbing her arm, pulled her toward the shack where the Order waited.

"You're going to lose everything, you know," McKinnon told him matter-of-factly.

But Sirius had never believed the rumors about McKinnon's uncanny Divination ability, so he just scowled at her.

"Marlene," he said disgustedly, "just get over it."

Marlene grinned slyly. "You used my first name."

Sirius despaired.


End file.
